


two matches in the wind

by Anonymous



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Park Jisung (NCT)-centric, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:48:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29051652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Jeno takes a deep breath, reorienting himself. The winter air is gasoline over his tongue.“I’m here, Jisung,” he says. “I’m here. I’m going to take you home, take you somewhere warm, somewhere safe. It’ll be okay. I promise, it’ll be okay.”Or: It’s five in the morning and Jeno’s phone is ringing.
Relationships: Lee Jeno/Park Jisung
Comments: 9
Kudos: 103
Collections: Anonymous





	two matches in the wind

It’s five in the morning and Jeno’s phone is ringing.

He rolls onto his front and buries his head under the pillow in an effort to block out the sound. It’s way too early for this.

He’d only fallen asleep a couple of hours ago, having spent the better part of the night and morning sat in front of his computer, playing games. His voice is hoarse from laughing. His hand is sore from rapid clicking. And he is  _ tired.  _ The skin under his eyes is already thin and tender, and Jeno knows there’ll be dark circles there tomorrow. Needless to say, he needs as much sleep as he can get; the phone is definitely not helping. 

It only occurs to him a moment later when logic raises its head through the haze of sleep that there must be a reason someone’s calling him this early. He stretches his arm out and flails around for the phone. The back of his hand collides with the sharp edge of the bedside table and he groans, bites back several curses, and then follows the vibrations upward. When he finds the phone he slides it under the pillow and presses it to his ear.

“Hello?”

The sound of static on the other side of the phone. Wind, maybe, Jeno thinks. Someone is calling him from outside at five in the morning—a winter’s morning, glazed over with frost and snow. 

Jeno frowns. “You there?” he asks again, and when he’s only answered by silence, he pulls back to stare at the phone screen, to get a name. He stops still. “Jisung?” 

Jisung makes a wounded sound on the other end of the phone and Jeno’s stomach sinks. 

_ “Hyung,” _ he breathes out, sounding terribly young and terribly frail. “Hyung.”

Jeno sits bolt upright. He hadn’t managed to close the curtains before he fell asleep and he can see now how cold it is outside. How the frost spiders up the window and the grass is blanketed in white. Jeno’s hand tightens around the phone.

“Jisung. Do you need me to come get you?” he asks, not waiting for an answer as he rolls out of bed and frantically pulls on socks. There’s a wool scarf slung over the back of a chair and he picks that up, too, winding it around his neck. “Jisung?”

A sob, this time. One that makes fear and anger flood through Jeno’s body. He’s running through his apartment now, snatching up the house and car keys from the bowl by the door and shoving his feet into his shoes, not even bothering to tie the laces. He must look mad, running from his apartment at five in the morning, half-dressed in pyjamas and combat boots, but Jeno doesn’t care. He needs to get to Jisung. 

He spams the elevator button and waits for it to sluggishly make its way up. Jisung is still quiet on the other side of the phone and it only makes Jeno worry more. He’s shaking with it, he realises, as he reaches out to press the elevator button again and instead jams his finger into the wall. 

It takes far too long for the elevator to come, and even longer for it to travel back down to the basement. Signal is always finicky so far below ground and Jeno presses the phone impossibly closer in the hope that he doesn’t lose connection. 

He finds his car parked in its usual place and throws the door open, tossing the phone into the passenger seat and putting Jisung on speaker. After clicking in his seatbelt, he pulls out of the car park and starts heading in the general direction towards Jisung’s apartment building. 

“Jisung,” Jeno starts, his voice breaking as he speaks. “Jisung, I need you to tell me where you are.” 

A light sniffle on the other side of the phone. The sound of rustling fabric. Then, so softly he almost doesn’t hear it, “The park. The park with— with the swings and the duck pond.” 

Jeno nods and begins steering the car in that general direction. “Okay. Good. That’s good, Jisung. Can you stay there for me? I’m on my way. I’ll be there soon, alright?”

There’s another sniffle and– oh. Jisung's crying. He’s crying, and it absolutely breaks Jeno’s heart. He steps down on the gas pedal and drives a little faster. 

It’s not long before the park comes into view. This early in the morning it’s empty and covered in a shroud of darkness and ice. Jeno pulls in just alongside the gate and kills the engine, gritting his teeth as he steps out of the car’s warmth and into the early morning air. 

“Where are you?” Jeno asks as he starts jogging through the park. It’s dark. So dark that Jeno can barely see in front of him. Any other time Jeno would know the layout of this park intimately with its meandering veins of waterways and ponds and patchwork quilt grass fields, but he’s so full of panic that everything outside of the tinny sound of Jisung’s voice through the phone falls away. 

Jeno takes a step forward and trips over on his untied shoelaces, almost falling face first into the gravel path. Frustration snarls. He needs to— Jeno needs to calm down. He’s not going to be able to find Jisung like this. 

When he’s stood upright again, Jeno takes a deep breath, reorienting himself. 

The winter air is gasoline over his tongue. 

“I’m here, Jisung,” he says. “I’m here. I’m going to take you home, take you somewhere warm, somewhere safe. It’ll be okay. I promise, it’ll be okay.” 

Silence. More strained, if it were even possible. For a moment Jeno wishes he could take the words back; perhaps it was the wrong thing to say. He’s never known how to give comfort like this, through words—that’s more of Jaemin’s thing, and Chenle’s—but he’s trying. He has to. But all he can do now is wait for Jisung to meet him halfway. 

Distantly he hears the wind through the pond reeds and walks toward it. He’s off path now, gravel making way to silk-slip grass. As he approaches he can see the pond frozen over with ice: clear, dark, ice, untouched and reflecting the hollow of the night. This park is so lonely, Jeno thinks. And Jisung is somewhere here, cold and waiting to be found. 

Jeno lowers the phone and stares out into the park. It’s vast, and if Jisung is hiding, if he’s afraid, it will only make it more difficult to find him. He’s going to have to calm him down somehow, at least, enough for him to feel safe. To trust Jeno to do this for him. 

“I’m by the duck pond,” Jeno says into the air, the phone held loosely by his head. “I was thinking that if it’s frozen enough, we could come back here and ice skate. Jaemin’s always wanted to teach us, hasn’t he? We should bring Donghyuck, too. Chenle would definitely push him onto the ice before he’s ready and leave him stranded there.” He laughs, but the sound of it is dulled, a light flickering out. Even so, he continues. 

“Afterwards, we should get hot chocolate. Donghyuck showed me how to make it good, with real chocolate, melted down and mixed with buttery milk. You’d like it. It would keep you warm.” A pause. “It’s so cold out, Jisung. How long have you been sat here? You must be tired, hm? It’s almost sunrise.” Another pause. He’s running out of things to say. Scared of saying the wrong thing. 

As he mulls over what to say next, Jeno hears quiet footsteps behind him. He turns around slowly so as not to slip and squints through the darkness. 

The person stops, their entire body hunched over, curling in on themselves. Jeno wants to reach out and draw them close but he stops still, all of his movements slowed to keep them from starting and running away. 

“Jisung?” he calls out, as soft as his voice can manage. The person jolts at the name, but then their entire body slackens. As if caught. Defeated. Then, they step forward, close enough that Jeno can see them for the first time, and he has to bite back a gasp.

Jisung’s eyes are swollen red with tears and what looks like— what looks like bruises. Fresh bruises, barely given enough time petal in black and blue. His lip is split and dribbles of dried blood are crusted on his chin, broken in places where he must have rubbed at it.

This boy—this beautiful, brave boy—looks entirely broken. As if someone has taken him and crumpled him in their fist like a piece of paper. 

Jeno shatters with anger. 

He wants to scream. He wants to cry. He wants to breathe fire and burn the world to ashes.

Instead, he takes another breath, and says, “Thank you,” and it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to say in his life. “Thank you for calling me. I’m glad. I’m—” The words splinter, snap, and Jeno has to force tears back, feels them sliding down his throat. 

Jisung frowns but doesn’t say anything, looking down at his feet, looking so small. He’s barely wearing anything, either. He must have not even had the time to grab a coat.

Anger flares again and Jeno distracts himself by unwinding the scarf from around his neck. “You must be cold, hm?” Jeno says, eyeing the cherry flush on the tip of his nose, his cheeks. “Can I…?” 

Jisung looks up, eyes teary. Jeno waits patiently. After a moment he nods. 

Jeno steps forward and Jisung stiffens but doesn’t step back. Jeno stops still and waits until Jisung relaxes again. Then, he lifts the scarf and drapes it gently around Jisung’s neck, the wool tucked against his skin. Armour against him and the world. 

Jeno backs away, allowing Jisung his space again. He reaches up and feels the scarf almost reverently, and then tucks his face into it, eyes slipping shut. His fingers curled into the soft material. 

“I thought,” Jisung starts, his voice trembling with cold, with—something. “I thought… you wanted to take me back. To  _ my _ home.” 

“Oh. Oh, Jisung-ah, I’m sorry. I meant—” Jeno swallows and takes a moment to collect his thoughts, to push them past the wall of hurt. “I meant to take you to my home. It’s yours too, whenever you need it to be. Whenever you want it to be. Always, really. I’d never turn you away.”

“You would,” Jisung says quietly, and then frowns as if he just realised what he said.

“Not if you needed me. Never, if you needed me.” Jeno pauses. Thinks. “I can… call someone else, if you’d want that.”

“No.” Jisung snaps his head up and stares at Jeno pointedly. “It’s… no. I… Thank you for coming. You didn’t have to.” He buries his face in the scarf again, no longing looking up at him. Jeno wonders how many times tonight this boy has had to be vulnerable.

“I came because I wanted to. Because… you’re important to me.” Jisung looks up at him, now, all doe-eyes, glittering in the winter light. “I meant it, when I said thank you for calling me. If it means I can keep you safe, I would— Jisung-ah, I would do anything.”

“Anything,” Jisung parrots back. As if he doesn’t quite understand. As if he doesn’t quite believe it. 

“Will you let me?” Jeno asks. “You don’t need to tell me anything. I just want to make sure you’re warm and okay.” 

Jisung sniffles a little bit. “Can we have hot chocolate?” 

Jeno blinks, and then smiles. “Of course. Yeah, I can do that. And pancakes, if you’d like.”

“I would.” This time, it’s Jisung stepping forward. Still looking down, he takes one of Jeno’s hands and holds it, his grip loose, fingers so cold they seem to burn. “Hyung,” he says. “Thank you.”

Jeno shakes his head. He turns his hand around in Jisung’s grasp and lets their fingers thread together. “There’s no need for ‘thank you’s, Jisung-ah. Now, should we go home?”

Jisung smiles, his face full of warmth, and it seems that the night thaws with him. As they make their way across the park, sunlight spills from a folded corner of the sky, skating across the pond, dancing in the dew. Two figures, their hands linked, find their way somewhere warm and bright. A new page is turned. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you very much for reading ♡ any thoughts/comments very much appreciated!


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